Contigo
by T'Nietzsche
Summary: It was all sunlight and golden sheets and brown, tanned skin folded in his arms. There was nothing else but brightness as he blinked his eyes open and was greeted by the magnificence of this sight. And for the first time in a while, Bastiaan smiled. Loneliness was a wonderful companion until she paled in comparison to him. "Antonio." NedSpa. Netherlands/Spain. Mentions of PruAus.


**Before we start, I just wanted to say that I've fallen in love with this pairing, and I hope I can make others fall in love, too. :D I just hope that I got them both in character, especially the Netherlands. I don't have much experience writing him. Actually, I don't think I have any! :P I hope I did them both justice!**

**I'll translate the Spanish in the end, but if it's wrong, please tell me! I won't be mad! I've taken Spanish for only three years, so I'm not fluent, and it would be much appreciated to be told what I'm doing wrong!**

* * *

_It was all sunlight and golden sheets and brown, tanned skin folded in his arms. There was nothing else but brightness as he blinked his eyes open and was greeted by the magnificence of this sight. And for the first time in a while, Bastiaan smiled._

_A sigh escaped his lips, but not one of annoyance or anger. He was content, warm, and he was not alone. Not like he used to love._

_He loved another now. Loneliness was a wonderful companion until she paled in comparison to him._

_"Antonio."_

* * *

"So, Bastiaan, do you have a boyfriend or a girlfriend yet?" Francis grinned suggestively, leaning on Charlotte, who winked at him.

Bastiaan rolled his eyes. "No. And stop asking, it's none of your business."

"Ah, but l'amour is _always _my business," said Francis, wiggling his eyebrows. Charlotte burst out laughing, and Bastiaan shook his head slowly.

_This is my life. I have no one else to go out with except my sister and her pervert of a friend. Fantastic._ In retrospect, he could've asked Gilbert to go with him to the bar. But the self-proclaimed Prussian was annoying. And if he and Francis were there at the same time, he'd be downright insufferable.

Ludwig was another candidate, but he was too stiff and awkward to be around. Not that Bastiaan wasn't the same, but he didn't think himself to be too awkward. And besides, he was probably with that bubbly Italian, Feliciano.

He didn't want to ask him either.

So he was stuck with his sister and her friend from culinary school. He sighed and turned away from Charlotte and Francis, who had finally left him alone and started a conversation about the different cocktails available. At least they wouldn't tease him about being single.

He was perfectly happy with being alone. Honestly. He had Charlotte, he had his little brother, and he had a job and he had money to spare. He had his garden, his pipe, and when Charlotte was at school, he had a quiet house. The holy trinity of a content, quiet existence.

He didn't need anything more.

* * *

_The other slowly opened his beautiful green eyes and looked at Bastiaan with what the Dutchman thought to be an even more beautiful smile._

_"Bastiaan. Buenos días," Antonio murmured, and suddenly, he shot straight up in bed, excitement written across his face. "Debemos desayunar ahora, y luego podemos…"_

_He hushed Antonio, sitting up and taking the Spaniard's face between his palms, resting the tips of his fingers on his cheeks. Antonio closed his eyes and leaned into his hands with a content, serene expression._

_"We don't have to do anything today," Bastiaan said, and he let go of his face, realizing how awkward it was. Antonio pouted at the loss of contact and positioned himself so that he was lying face up with his head resting between Bastiaan's thighs. "Unless you want to do something."_

_"Whatever you want to do," said Antonio, looking up at him with green, green eyes, and Bastiaan knew what he wanted. "Por favor."_

_He didn't even need to know Spanish._

* * *

"Why are you going to Madrid?" Bastiaan asked. Charlotte whistled and ignored him for a moment as she whirled around her room in search of "that skirt that is most definitely around here somewhere."

When she finally found it beneath the suitcase she had haphazardly placed on her messy bed, she turned to him. "It's spring. Classes stop for a week. You know what a vacation is, Bastiaan." With a little laugh at his confusion, she went back to packing. "And besides, you know that I've been writing to him for two years now. I'm quite sure I'll be safe for a few days in Spain."

"Is Francis going with you?" Bastiaan asked. He was worried, though he wouldn't ever admit it out loud. He didn't like the idea of Charlotte going to Spain by herself, no matter how safe she thought it was. He'd known for a while that she had a Spanish pen pal, ever since her last year of high school, but he didn't think that she'd ever actually want to meet him someday. Although, upon further thought, Bastiaan had to say that it probably was inevitable that she'd think of planning to meet him.

"Yes, along with Gilbert. I asked Elizabeta if she could come, but she, you know, doesn't want to be around Gilbert, especially after what happened with Roderich," said Charlotte, and Bastiaan nearly scoffed at the mess it was. Long story short, Roderich and Charlotte's Hungarian friend, Elizabeta, had been happily dating for two years, but suddenly, the Austrian broke up with her. A few days later, Elizabeta saw him being kissed by Gilbert, and when she threatened the Prussian in defense of Roderich, she found out that they were dating and that apparently they'd been in love with each other for years, but Roderich had been denying it.

Bastiaan wouldn't care if it weren't for Charlotte, who felt awful for her friend, though she didn't really find fault with Gilbert. The whole thing was messy, and it was exactly why he had no desire to ever be in love. He wasn't completely opposed to it, but really, there was no need for it. He had everything he needed.

"Is that all? No one else?" Bastiaan asked, sighing. He knew he wouldn't be able to convince her not to go, but he wanted to make sure she would be fine. Although he was frequently annoyed by Francis and Gilbert, it wasn't like they weren't good to his sister, and would be good companions.

"No one else," Charlotte confirmed, and she continued folding shirts and placing them neatly into her suitcase (a huge contrast from her messy room, Bastiaan noted) when she gasped and turned to him with light in her eyes. "You should come with us!"

"No." He didn't want to go to Spain and be surrounded by people he wouldn't understand unless they spoke English or Dutch, or even a bit of German or French. He wanted to stay in Amsterdam and enjoy the quiet for a little while Charlotte was away. And then welcome her back when she came home.

"C'mon, Bastiaan! It will be fun! We can get some churros-" At that, he wrinkled his nose in distaste. "-and we can see the sights of Madrid. La Sagrada Familia!"

"That's in Barcelona, Char," said Bastiaan, pinching the bridge of his nose. He could feel the oncoming headache due to anxiety and annoyance.

"We can stop in Barcelona on the way to Madrid," said Charlotte, not at all fazed. "You know it will be fun, Bastiaan. You should come, too. Besides, you know I won't stop bothering you until you agree."

He grunted. "Fine. I'll go. Because I know you'll never stop. But we're not stopping in Barcelona. We're going to Madrid, and after that, we're going home."

"All right," Charlotte relented, and she smiled gently. "It will be fun. I promise."

"It'd be better if Francis and Gilbert didn't go," said Bastiaan, and she shook her head.

"They're set on going. Apparently, an old friend of theirs who they haven't talked to in a long time lives in Madrid. I don't know how they'll possibly find him if they don't know his address, but you know them," said Charlotte, laughing.

"They're idiots," Bastiaan said, and she rolled her eyes at him.

"We all are when we want something."

* * *

_"Bastiaan. Bastiaan. Get up, querido. It's already afternoon. We didn't even eat breakfast." A chuckle and the rustling of sheets filled Bastiaan's ears as he blinked sleep away._

_"I'm going," he muttered, lifting an arm against the gravity of the warm bed and running it through his messy hair._

_"Not very quickly," Antonio said with a smile. He was already across the room, putting his golden cross around his neck. He looked back at Bastiaan through the mirror in front of him._

_"Shut up."_

_The Spaniard laughed, and Bastiaan let a small smile onto his face as he got out of bed and walked over to Antonio. He rested his chin on the other's brown curls, and let his hands rest on his shoulders. He watched them in the mirror, saw as Antonio let his head fall back to look up at him, and saw himself kiss Antonio's forehead._

_"We'll never leave at this rate," Antonio said softly, and Bastiaan looked away and out the window for a moment. The sun was just past the peak in the sky, and the city of Madrid sang below them._

_He looked back down at Antonio, who waited for him to reply patiently. "I don't want to."_

* * *

Just getting into the car with them was annoying. As soon as Bastiaan started driving, Gilbert yelled "Road trip!" and leaned into the front to turn on the radio, full blast.

He nearly hit another car because of the shock.

Charlotte looked as if she had seen a ghost, but one with a clown costume, because her mouth hung open like she was scared but she was laughing breathlessly.

Bastiaan squared his shoulders and purposely ignored the Frenchman and the Prussian the entire way to Spain. He drove over the speed limit on multiple occasions just to shorten their trip.

In the end, with a few stops to use the bathroom or get lunch, and to cross multiple borders, they made the trip from Amsterdam to Madrid in about seven hours. A bit longer than he'd wanted, but still pretty good considering how he managed not to get a ticket by having Charlotte watch for police so he could drive faster than allowed in some areas.

Driving through Madrid was just short of a nightmare, having only ever driven in one city his entire life. Luckily for him, though, Francis had booked a hotel just outside the city center, but close enough to walk to. Charlotte was happy about this because she wanted to go shopping at least once. Francis and Gilbert would share a room, and he and Charlotte would have the room next door. Bastiaan would've preferred his own room, but Charlotte insisted that they stay together to cut down the cost. He would've paid it even if it were expensive, but like most times, he gave in to her.

"When are you meeting him?" Bastiaan asked as Charlotte collapsed into the chair beside the window.

"Tomorrow morning at eleven," she replied, and she smiled. "I'm excited to finally meet him."

"Just make sure he isn't a pervert or a rapist," said Bastiaan, and he glared at her when she laughed. "I'm serious."

"You always are." Charlotte got up and sat down next to him on the bed, her hand on his knee. "Don't worry about me. Francis and Gilbert will be with me. They want to see if he's the friend from a long time ago."

"They don't know if he is?" Bastiaan asked, raising an eyebrow.

"They wanted me to ask beforehand, but I thought it'd be strange, so I just told him that I'd bring a couple friends with me tomorrow. And you can come with us if you want."

He shook his head. Despite liking his quiet time, he decided that he'd see what Madrid had to offer. At least in terms of clubs and restaurants. He might as well enjoy being out by himself, without his sister and her friends.

"Okay, that's fine," she said, and patted his knee before getting up. "I'm just going to freshen up, and after I'm done, you can, too. Then we'll go get some tapas."

"Tapas?" He had no idea what she was talking about. He didn't like when he didn't know.

"It's a bit early for dinner here, so a lot of Spaniards eat tapas around this time," Charlotte explained, and he nodded in understanding.

"Hurry up, then," Bastiaan prompted, and Charlotte stuck her tongue out at him before heading into the bathroom.

He took her seat by the window and took out a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it swiftly. He breathed in, and then out, watching the smoke rise from his lips into the air. He would've preferred his pipe, but he didn't want to get caught up at the border if it wasn't necessary, so he settled for what Charlotte called "cancer sticks."

He let out a laugh before inhaling again. Watching the smoke rise through the rays of the Spanish sunlight hypnotized him, and he leaned back into the chair, content.

* * *

_"I still hope she isn't mad," Antonio said, smiling sheepishly. They both sat on the balcony of his apartment, high above the streets still bustling with people._

_"She won't be. I'll make sure of it," Bastiaan reassured him, and the Spaniard turned to him, glowing in the evening sun._

_"Muchas gracias, cariño." And a kiss on the cheek._

_Bastiaan found himself smiling again, small but still visible. _I smile too damn much around him.

_"¡Tu cara es roja como un tomate! ¡Tú me amas!" Antonio laughed and gave him a loving look. Although Bastiaan had no idea what he just said, he knew it made Antonio happy, and so he was happy. And he wanted him closer._

_"Come here." Bastiaan gestured for him to sit on his lap._

_Antonio complied immediately, and as he gently positioned himself, Bastiaan stole a kiss, making the other giggle and wrap his arms around his neck, though he avoided eye contact. The Dutchman gazed up at Antonio, whose face was inclined toward the sky to hide his slight embarrassment, and he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding._

_"You're too cute, you know that?"_

_Antonio looked down and blinked his pretty green eyes, a full smile back once again. That smile would be the death of him. But Bastiaan wouldn't have it any other way. He would see this sight every day for the rest of his life._

_He didn't know if he'd bring Antonio to the Netherlands, or if he'd stay in Spain, or maybe even meet in the middle in Belgium or France, but either way, he would make this work. They'd do it together._

* * *

Charlotte, Francis, and Gilbert wanted to eat at a booth inside the dim restaurant, but Bastiaan decided to stay outside. It was a beautiful evening, and he still had his cigarette. The place was small anyway, and if one of them wanted him, all they had to do was call out a bit louder to catch his attention while he watched the people around him.

He stood beside the wide doorway, right leg crossed over the left with his back to the wall. Nobody paid him a spare glance, and he calmly observed the sights and smells around him. The people, the buildings, the sidewalk, the sky. The tapas inside, cigarettes, the deep breaths of the city as each footstep tapped on its heart. The movement around him without him having to go anywhere was enough to entertain him without having to sit inside with the others.

Bastiaan rested his head back against the stone behind him when he suddenly heard a guitar start playing, with cheers immediately erupting. He turned his head to see at least ten people all dressed in bright colors. He caught a glimpse of one in red, and then one in white, and another in blue before his view was blocked by a quickly growing crowd.

He didn't know what made him leave his comfortable post at the wall. Perhaps it was part curiosity, part human nature to follow the crowd. But either way, he did, and he managed to get a perfect view over the top of a short woman's shoulder.

There were twelve dancers, all dressed in different colors and what Bastiaan thought to be traditional Spanish costumes. Most were female, but some were men. None of them seemed to be partnered up, but they all kept in time to the tempo of the song playing. Their castanets were synchronized as they moved.

As he watched all of them simultaneously, one in red called out, "¡Ahora, todos ustedes!"

Once again, he found himself following the crowd as they backed up to give those who wanted to join the dancing some room.

Women with children joined in, men joined in, teenagers joined in, and Bastiaan found himself fascinated. He would never do anything that involved dancing in public, unless it was in a dark, crowded club, and even then, he was almost always at the bar, not dancing. It was… inspiring, in a way, to see these people who probably didn't know each other just join together to dance, even if they didn't quite know all the steps to the flamenco.

"¡Antonio, mi amigo! ¡Baila!" a dancer in green called out, and Bastiaan watched as a young man, probably his age, with a yellow apron, grinned and waved to the dancer.

"¿Ahora?" the man, Antonio, asked jokingly.

The other man rolled his eyes but continued dancing. "¡Por supuesto!"

Antonio took off his yellow apron and immediately joined in with the dancer in green. Some of the people who had been standing near Antonio cheered for him, and a little girl who had been standing slightly behind him ran up to pick his apron off the ground.

And he started dancing.

If Bastiaan thought he'd ever seen anything beautiful before seeing this man dance, he was wrong and it was a lie. Antonio was more beautiful than the red lights shining in dark bars, more beautiful than spring in Amsterdam, much more beautiful than anything he could've ever imagined. Emerald green eyes, browned skin, bright smile. A picture of passion and happiness, strength and pride, compassion and loyalty.

He felt himself blush at his own thoughts, and he looked down at his feet. _Goddammit. _He never thought he'd be the one waxing sappy shit like that, but he couldn't help it. How could one even think of someone like that before knowing them? Just by looking at the Spaniard, how could he possibly tell anything of the things he'd just thought about him?

What was this?

When he looked up, deciding that the war in his mind was pointless and was just a momentary lapse in judgment, he saw Antonio smiling directly at him, swaying his hips and sounding the castanets and fuck. Bastiaan couldn't help the wide-eyed look (though only fractionally for him) of being caught. Antonio laughed but continued dancing, glancing over at him every time he spun around, and Bastiaan almost smirked. He knew that he was going to come over to him after dancing. Despite the embarrassment, he was eagerly awaiting that moment to arrive.

Luckily for him, the song ended soon after, with a loud round of applause. The dancers all gathered around the guitarist, the one in green saying "adios" to Antonio, before he turned to Bastiaan and waved.

Antonio walked over and stopped just a foot before him, and Bastiaan looked down at him. Although the Spaniard wasn't short, he himself happened to be tall.

"Hola." Antonio looked up at him, eyes sparkling. "¿Cómo se llama?"

"I'm sorry, I don't speak Spanish," said Bastiaan, and the almost smirk faded with a pang in his stomach. He hated that he was so nervous around this man. And that he thought of romantic things. And that Antonio's eyes were too bright, and his smile was too magnetic.

"I am sorry I didn't ask first," said Antonio in accented English. He looked sheepish, but quickly recovered and beamed. "What is your name? I am Antonio."

"So I heard," Bastiaan said, smiling slyly, and Antonio laughed. "Bastiaan." He supposed this would get easier after a while, even though he could practically feel his skin tingling.

"Mucho gusto, Bastiaan."

They both stared at each other for a moment, Bastiaan with a slight frown at the lack of conversation. He was unsure of what to do. Should he speak? But Antonio kept smiling at him, almost without blinking. He rarely felt social anxiety, mostly social annoyance. This was a time of rarities. From a smirk to a smile to a frown. Next time he knew, his emotions would be as easy to read as a picture book across his face.

Finally Antonio broke their silence, his smile gentle and understanding, like he knew all of Bastiaan's thoughts and doubts and fears. And like he knew what he wanted.

"Come with me. I will show you around Madrid." Antonio extended his hand, and Bastiaan could feel his own hand start moving to take the other and hold it tightly as they explored.

He knew he should tell Charlotte and the others that he was going with Antonio, but just looking at the expectant and hopeful look on the Spaniard's face was enough to convince himself to put that off and follow. Immediately.

He took Antonio's hand and nodded. "Okay."

The sun could not rival the smile he was rewarded with.

.

.

.

Only the moon would see his smile as he walked toward the hotel. It was midnight, and he had spent the last five to six hours with Antonio. Much of the time they spent together consisted of Antonio taking pictures of him in various places around the city, and Bastiaan refusing, although he complied anyway when faced with puppy eyes. Antonio could turn away an entire army with those eyes.

Contrary to Bastiaan's fear of not knowing what to say, he found that he didn't have to say much. Antonio did most of the talking, alternating between the history of the city and asking questions about him. He answered every question, and asked some of his own.

Antonio was born and raised in Madrid, though he attended college in Valladolid. He owned a café, just down the block from where the group flamenco dance took place, and, which wasn't surprising to Bastiaan, loved to dance. He also played guitar.

There was a lot more that Bastiaan could say that he knew about Antonio, but he would never forget how he moved through the city streets, weaving between the people while looking back every minute or two to check if the Dutchman was still following, even though their hands were clasped tightly together. He would never forget when they sat together on a bench and the Spaniard traced the scar on his forehead with a delicate finger.

But out of everything that happened that evening and into the night, he would never forget when they stopped in front of Antonio's apartment building, and they agreed to meet at his café in the morning so they could spend the whole day with each other. The promise of another meeting made him smile.

It wasn't like back at home underneath the red lights or the green, no drizzle or conquest or distraction. This was pure light in all its heaviness and blinding prospects, and he'd burn to reach them. He'd brave the night and the few hours in the morning that he wasn't with Antonio, and he would let himself forget all the times before.

With that thought, he walked through the lobby and into the elevator, impatiently tapping his foot as he went up each floor. Finally, he got out and went to the room, sliding the key in with ease and opening the door to find Charlotte sitting in the chair by the window, looking like she'd fallen asleep while looking out.

He sighed and was about to put a blanket over her when she suddenly opened her eyes and gasped at the sight of him.

"Bastiaan!" She looked startled, but it quickly changed to anger. "Where have you been?"

"I went around the city," Bastiaan answered, careful not to mention Antonio. She would be all over him if he did. He'd tell her eventually, of course, but even then, he didn't want to give away too much. Antonio was his secret, his alone.

"You could've at least told us that before you decided to go off on your own! We were almost done eating, and we wanted to go around, too!" Charlotte fumed. Bastiaan knew she was angry, but in the end, he wouldn't go back in time to do what he should've done. He'd choose Antonio over and over again. It was one of the best nights of his life, if not the best. He could deal with his little sister's anger for hours if only to see Antonio's face for a second.

He felt his lips curl up involuntarily when thinking about Antonio standing against the light of the sunset, arms spread wide and grin visible through the silhouette, to be forever saved in a picture on his phone.

"What _were _you doing while we weren't there?" Charlotte asked, curious and suspicious. "You're acting strange."

Bastiaan didn't answer, but left the smile. Even if he had tried, he couldn't get rid of it. Not until tomorrow morning, but it would just grow bigger. It wouldn't fade anytime soon.

.

.

.

When he woke up, he found that the hotel room was filled with sunlight, and that Charlotte was gone from her bed.

"Char?"

"When you sleep late, you wake up late," said Charlotte with a pointed glance his way, though it already started to wilt. "We're going to eat breakfast in ten minutes. Do you think you can get ready quickly enough? I can probably convince Gilbert to wait at least half an hour."

Bastiaan sighed in relief that Charlotte wasn't too angry anymore. Not that it would've matter anyway, but he'd prefer her to be happy.

"Ten minutes should be fine," Bastiaan said, getting up and stretching. He quickly found clothes and went to the bathroom. Normally he took showers every morning, but because there was so little time, he decided he'd have to settle for taking one tomorrow. If he even came back to the hotel.

It was almost ten o'clock. He had agreed to meet Antonio at ten thirty. And if he was lucky, they'd be together until that night. Or the next morning.

Charlotte would lose her head if he was gone for that long without telling her.

But then again, today she was supposed to meet her pen pal. She'd probably be preoccupied the entire day as well. And because she knew that he wasn't going with them to meet him, he could spend the day with Antonio without her being angry.

Everything was working out in his favor.

He changed and fixed his hair, taking extra time to make sure he looked perfect to meet Antonio. He checked his watch. He would eat for fifteen minutes, and then run to the café. Thankfully, he remembered exactly where the restaurant was, and knew he'd be able to find Antonio's café.

"Let's go now, Charlotte," he said as he walked out of the bathroom. She immediately got up and smiled.

"Francis and Gilbert will meet us in the lobby," she said, and he nodded an "okay" before swiftly opening the door and holding it open for her.

Charlotte started heading toward the elevator, and as Bastiaan closed the door with a resounding click, he chuckled.

"I may not be seeing you for a day or two," he said, thinking about the room inside, and when Charlotte looked back to see if he was behind her, he quickly cleared his face of any emotion and briskly caught up to her.

"Were you just laughing?" asked Charlotte, raising an eyebrow.

"No. Why would I be?" he responded, and met her eyes calmly and unflinchingly before the elevator door opened with a ding. "Let's go."

_The longer this takes, the longer it will be until I see Antonio._

.

.

.

He ran down the streets and cut corners and nearly hit several people on the way to Antonio, but he didn't care. He was five minutes late. Charlotte and even Gilbert gave him a hard time about leaving, and later, he had to thank Francis for helping him. He was pretty sure the Frenchman had an idea of what was going on.

Bastiaan really hated being indebted to others, but he'd deal with it later.

When he got to the café, he looked in to see if Antonio was inside. No one was there. He felt panic start licking flames inside of him, but just as he was about to try opening the door, Antonio appeared out of a back room and smiled at him through the window. The Spaniard opened the door and with a soothing smile, he took Bastiaan's hand and led him inside.

"Don't worry, I wasn't waiting for you. I also just finished getting ready."

They both sat down at the nearest table, across from each other, with Antonio still holding his hand.

"That's good," said Bastiaan, relieved. "I slept in later than I wanted."

"Me too," said Antonio, laughing, before he sweetly said, "Last night was very fun, Bastiaan."

"I agree."

The silence would've been awkward if it weren't for the Spaniard caressing his hand, sparks fading into gentle currents of affection that made Bastiaan feel completely at ease.

"I made you coffee. You can drink it on our way," said Antonio, and he let go of Bastiaan's hand to lean over the counter and grab two travel mugs, one red and one blue.

"Thank you," said Bastiaan, taking the blue one and sipping the coffee. He gave him a small smile. "Delicioso." He was pretty sure that was the only Spanish word he knew.

"I am so glad you like it!" Antonio exclaimed, grinning proudly. "I made it while I was trying to change."

Bastiaan smiled before asking, "So, where are we going today?"

Antonio looked angelic as he excitedly answered, "A lot of places. So we should get going now!"

"Lead the way, then."

Green eyes gleamed and Bastiaan found himself being pulled to his feet, and toward the door that separated them from the adventures that were waiting.

.

.

.

"Thank you, Antonio."

"For what?" the Spaniard asked, genuinely curious. Bastiaan nearly snorted at his obliviousness and relaxed his grip around him.

He had him up against the wall only a foot from the door leading into his apartment, with a leg between Antonio's and an arm that was already around Antonio's waist.

"For showing me around Madrid," Bastiaan murmured, licking the underside of his jaw, and Antonio's eyes widened like he was seeing seventh heaven.

Bastiaan was already waiting for him there.

He tilted Antonio's chin up and captured his lips, the taste of tomatoes and coffee set on a forever burning fire, with a delectable moan on the Spaniard's part.

Antonio managed to get one of his arms out of Bastiaan's grip while still kissing him, and the front door of his apartment swung open with a squeak.

He pulled away from Bastiaan, much to his displeasure, to quickly say, "Inside, mi amor. Ahora."

Bastiaan grunted and let go of Antonio, but then realized that the other man hadn't needed a key to unlock the door. Did he even lock the door?

"What?" Antonio asked, looking back at Bastiaan, who stood still in the hallway, silently fuming. He could practically feel the jealousy swell within him. Someone could have broken in and taken advantage of him. "Oh, the door? I trust that no one will break in. I mean, there's already some security in the lobby, and I know my neighbors well enough to… Bastiaan!"

The Dutchman shut the door behind him and swept Antonio off his feet, holding him to his chest, bridal style.

"The bedroom is over there," said Antonio in a small voice, and despite the lack of light in the apartment, the moonlight was enough to let Bastiaan see the cute blush on his tan cheeks.

When they got there, he set Antonio down, and Antonio slowly took off the golden cross from around his neck, placing it gently on his desk. Bastiaan stood in the doorway, waiting.

Antonio turned around and smiled at him, and Bastiaan, with the speed of his own beating heart, crossed the room, brought him into his arms, and laid him down on the bed, where they would remain.

.

.

.

When they finally left Antonio's room, it was to lazily lounge around in the living room. A Spanish TV show played quietly, and they were both comfortable with their silence. It wasn't like they were alone in it.

Antonio was watching the show, laughing occasionally at something Bastiaan would never hope to understand, and playing with Bastiaan's hair as he laid his head on the Spaniard's lap. With every stroke of Antonio's fingers, he could feel himself drifting to sleep, utterly content with the petting and attention.

Just when the TV show almost completely faded from hearing, and the tender strokes felt like feathers dancing on his scalp, Antonio gasped, jarring Bastiaan into full consciousness.

"¡Ay, Díos mio!"

Bastiaan already knew what that phrase meant from last night, but it was for a much different reason now.

"What happened?" He sat up and took Antonio by the shoulders, making the Spaniard face him.

"I completely forgot!" Antonio sounded guilty and so disheartened that Bastiaan was tempted to kiss him until his sad eyes were bright again. "Yesterday, I was supposed to meet my pen pal. She's from Belgium, but she lives in Amsterdam with her brother. She came all the way from there yesterday, and we had plans to meet, but I forgot because I… I was so excited about seeing you." He gazed at Bastiaan helplessly, his bottom lip quivering.

But suddenly everything in the world stopped for Bastiaan. "Wait. What is her name?"

"Charlotte Kuijpers," Antonio responded sadly, and Bastiaan couldn't help but let out a breathless laugh. And soon that laugh turned into a complete fit of laughter.

Antonio could only watch him laugh, confused, while inside, Bastiaan couldn't believe it. This man here was the one Charlotte had been writing to for years. It was his saving grace. He'd never lose Antonio now, even after leaving to go home. They'd still keep in contact, and Charlotte wouldn't have any qualms about them. Everything had fallen into place on its own, and even though Bastiaan wasn't the type to believe in fate, he couldn't help but think this was an example of the inner workings of it.

"She's my sister," Bastiaan explained after he had finally stopped. He hadn't laughed like that in a while. "I'm Bastiaan Kuijpers."

Next thing he knew, his breath was lost again, not to laughter, but to Antonio attacking his lips, his eyes bright and happy again.

And when Antonio pulled away, panting for breath, he whispered the words that Bastiaan had never thought he'd have wanted to hear before meeting him: "I am falling in love with you, Bastiaan. Give me another day to let you love me, por favor."

"If I don't love you now, I will soon. I promise you that, Antonio," Bastiaan said slowly and seriously, and he leaned forward because no words could ever convey how perfect everything was at that moment.

.

.

.

"I'm nervous now," said Antonio with a shaky smile. Bastiaan gripped his hand tighter and brought it to his lips.

"Don't be," he said. "Everything will be fine. She'll be very happy to meet you. And her friends are okay, too, even if they get annoying."

"I'll take your word for it," Antonio laughed, and they both walked into the restaurant of the hotel, hand in hand.

"Kuijpers," Bastiaan said upon greeting the young woman at the front with a brisk nod.

"Hola, Señor Kuijpers. I will bring you and your guest to the others," the woman said, smiling politely. She gestured for them to follow her, and stopped at the entrance to a small room off the main part of the restaurant. She left them quietly to go back to her post near the door, and Bastiaan looked down at Antonio. He squeezed his hand encouragingly, and they both walked into the room.

Charlotte, Francis, and Gilbert immediately stopped talking, and their mouths all dropped open at the sight. He could imagine what they were thinking. _Bastiaan Kuijpers, smiling and holding hands with a beautiful Spaniard? How lucky!_

Francis recovered first, and he winked at Bastiaan before getting up. "Antonio, it is so good to see you again!"

Now Bastiaan was the one who was surprised, though he honestly should've expected this to happen with all the shocks lately. Like Antonio being Charlotte's pen pal. He should've seen this coming.

"Hola, Francis. Gilbert." Antonio smiled at them, but didn't make an attempt to move over to them. He stayed by Bastiaan's side, and Bastiaan couldn't be more grateful. And smug because Gilbert's mouth was still hanging open.

Bastiaan smirked when Gilbert's eyes widened comically at the sight of Antonio kissing his cheek and giggling at the Prussian's response.

"Totally unawesome, Antonio," Gilbert finally said, rolling his eyes. He still looked surprised, but he was at least laughing about it. "It's been a long time."

"Six years, amigo," replied Antonio, and he laughed sheepishly. "I wouldn't have lost touch with you guys, but I lost my phone, and it had both your numbers on it. But somehow I knew I'd see you both again. Looks like I was right."

"That's the Toni I remember," said Francis, chuckling. "Always placing faith blindly."

"How else can it be placed?" Antonio joked, and he smiled up at Bastiaan before letting go of his hand and holding it out to Charlotte. "Hola, Charlotte. Lo siento. Olvidé totalmente ayer porque estaba con tu hermano. Creo que estoy enamorado."

Charlotte stared at him blankly for a moment, making Antonio visibly nervous again and making Bastiaan shoot a warning glance with the message that she better be nice to him, before she grinned.

"I forgive you, Antonio," she said, and she cheerfully shook his hand. She stood up and then she looked at Bastiaan, eyes gleaming, and said, "I'm happy for you. Both of you." Then she looked over at Francis, grinning slyly. "There's your amour, Francis!"

Bastiaan smiled, content, and took Antonio's hand again. He wouldn't be letting go anytime soon.

* * *

**In case you were confused, all the parts in italics except the last one are before Antonio finding out that Bastiaan was his pen pal's brother!**

**And now here are some of the Spanish sayings that are hopefully correct (I won't put all, so I really hope you know words like "please" or "hello":**

Debemos desayunar ahora, y luego podemos...= We should eat breakfast now, and later we can...  
¡Tu cara es roja como un tomate! ¡Tú me amas!= Your face is red like a tomato! You love me!  
Querido, cariño, amor= various terms of endearment  
¡Ahora, todos ustedes!= Now, all of you!  
¡Antonio, mi amigo! ¡Baila!= Antonio, my friend! Dance!  
¡Por supuesto!= Of course!  
¿Cómo se llama?= What is your name?  
Mucho gusto= Nice to meet you  
¡Ay, Díos mio!= Oh my God!  
Lo siento. Olvidé totalmente ayer porque estaba con tu hermano. Creo que estoy enamorado.= I'm sorry. I totally forgot yesterday because I was with your brother. I believe that I'm in love.


End file.
